A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Catherine laughed. “Ye’re lookin’ fine yerself, Nathair. I’m glad ye finally found a lass to love who measures up to me in yer mind,” she teased. Then she turned to Alexander and said, “Cicilia had a wee gift for ye. She was gonnae give ye it when ye were wed, but she dinnae want ye to marry without it.”

  Alexander looked at Nathair, but the Man-at-arms simply shrugged.

  What gift? What could she have possibly gotten for me? She’s already given me everythin’.

  Catherine put out her hand, which held a little blue pouch. She handed it to Alexander, then eyed his outfit critically. “Ye look lovely,” she said finally. “Very handsome. But Cicilia is right, the look will nae be finished until ye put that on yer breast. I’ll leave ye to it.”

  As his sister walked away and closed the door behind her, Alexander could feel his hands trembling under the pouch. Based on its weight, and based on what Catherine had said, he could guess exactly what was inside, and he was not sure he could retain his composure if he opened it now.

  “Well?” Nathair said impatiently. “Dinnae leave me in suspense.”

  So Alexander pulled on the mouth of the little pouch, opening it and emptying the contents into his hand.

  When he did, there were tears in his eyes.

  It was a small, rectangular pin, shining with the light of new gold, buffed to perfection. On the front, embossed across the badge, were the words Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.

  Me faither’s pin. Cicilia had it remade for me. This is the secret she’s been keepin’. Can she even begin to guess what this means to me?

  Amazingly, unlike almost everyone else in the world, he was reasonably sure that Cicilia did understand. And as he pinned the badge onto his breast, right where the old one had always sat, he knew for sure he’d made the right choice.

  “That’s some lassie ye’re marryin’, Sandy,” Nathair said quietly, a broad smile on his face as he watched all of this unfold. “I cannae believe we both found it when we were least expectin’ it.”

  “Aye,” Alexander agreed. He remembered, not so long ago, laying in his bed at the farm and cursing every decision in his life that had brought him to that point. How different things were now. How strange!

  An’ I would nae change a single second o’ it.

  “Do ye ken somethin’, Nathair?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “What’s that?” Nathair said.

  “I think we may be two o’ the luckiest men alive,” Alexander told him. “An’ I dinnae ken what we did to deserve it.”

  Nathair laughed and patted his shoulder. “It’s nae what we did already, me friend. It’s what we must do from now on, an’ for the rest o’ our lives.”

  Alexander considered this and found a smile on his own face. That sounded like the kind of challenge he couldn’t wait to accept.

  The wedding was straight out of tradition, in the best way. The only thing that made Cicilia happier than marrying Alexander was the fact she got to do so alongside her best friend. It seemed fitting that both of them had found their lasting happiness.

  Both women were dressed in elegant gowns dyed in a bright pinkish-purple that the tailor called love’s longing. The silver trimming was complimented by the tiny heather blooms woven through both of their hairstyles.

  On her chest, Jeanie wore the silver luckenbooth that Nathair had used to ask her to wed him. In the same place, Cicilia proudly displayed the pin she’d made for Alexander, showing for sure how she was to be part of his family.

  An’ he’s part o’ mine.

  At the front stood the two grooms, both clad in the clan’s red and grey tartan and the sarks their brides had bought them. Alexander’s sash was embroidered with gold to denote his status. Still, otherwise, they looked remarkably similar for all their physical differences.

  Well. Similar enough. It’d be hard to outshine how handsome me Alexander is today.

  The twins stood off to the side with Alexander’s niece and nephew, each dressed formally and looking thrilled. They’d made quite a name for themselves. When the banns were being cried, the four children—Cicilia’s siblings leading the way—had taken it upon themselves to announce the news to everyone they met in the most spectacular way possible.

  Cicilia and Jeanie finally reached the front, and both embraced the other groom briefly before turning to their loves. Cicilia gently kissed Nathair on the cheek, but the second she saw Alexander, everything else seemed to stop existing.

  Has there ever been a man so beautiful as him?

  His blue eyes were shining with happiness, his brow and jaw wholly relaxed and happy for the first time since Cicilia had met him. She loved him so much it seemed impossible, so much it seemed like a deep, pleasant ache that she hoped would never go away.

  The minister began to speak, and Cicilia drank in every word as it wrapped its way around how she felt now.

  “We’re here today to celebrate two acts o’ the sacred rite o’ marriage. Before us, we have two fine men well-kent to us all—Alexander MacKinnon, Laird o’ Gallagher, an’ Man-at-arms Nathair Barcley. Wi’ them are two fine women, who have brought light into their lives an’ to our clan—Cicilia O’Donnel an’ Jean McCaul.”

  Cicilia glanced at the audience and saw Old Man Ewan openly sobbing with joy, accepting an embroidered handkerChieftain from Madame Sinclair.

  “May God grant them love an’ bless them both wi’ bairns a-plenty. Let each husband be a help an’ comfort to his wife, an’ each wife to her husband, in prosperity or in poorness,” the minister went on.

  He talked a little more, and then suddenly, somehow, it was already time for the vows.

  Alexander took her hands in his. “Cicilia,” he said, looking at her like an image she remembered of her father and mother.

  His vows were almost musical, like a poem reciting everything in his heart. “Ye are blood o’ me blood an’ bone o’ me bone. I give to ye me body that us two may be one. I give to ye me spirit, 'til our lives both are done. Ye cannae possess me, for I belong to meself, but while we both wish it, I give ye all I have to give.”

  He squeezed her hands. “Ye cannae command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve ye in the ways ye require, an’ may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from me hand, forever an’ always.”

  Cicilia blinked away tears. She wanted to go to him now, but she would wait. She would give him the proper wedding, the magnificent ceremony that he deserved.

  When the minister turned to her, she had her vows ready also. “Alexander. I pledge me love to ye, an’ everything that is mine is yers. I promise ye the first bite of me meat and the first sip from me cup. I pledge that yer name will always be that which I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor ye above all others forever.”

  Alexander had tears in his eyes now too, and Cicilia went on. “Our love is never-ending, and we are forever equals in our marriage. This is me wedding vow to ye, mo chidre.”

  Once Nathair and Jeanie had also recited their vows, the minister started with the Laird.

  “Alexander, will ye have Cicilia to be yer wife? Will ye love her an’ honor her, comfort an’ keep her, through health an’ sickness?” the minister asked. Cicilia tried her best not to cry at the smile on Alexander’s face as he silently nodded along. “Will ye forsake a’ others an’ remain loyal by her side an’ by her’s alone as long as both o’ ye shall live?”

  “Aye,” Alexander said in little more than a whisper. “Nothin’ will give me greater joy.”

  Then it was Cicilia’s turn.

  “Cicilia. Will ye obey an’ serve this man as yer husband, love an’ keep an’ honor him in health an’ in sickness? Will ye forsake a’ others an’ remain loyal by his side as long as ye both o’ ye shall live?”

  “Aye. Aye, I will,” Cicilia said, wiping at her eyes.

  While Nathair and Jeanie agreed to the vows on their side, Cicilia could not take her eyes from the glowing happiness in Alexander’s face. And then as one, the four of them
recited as they’d learned:

  “I take ye forever from now an’ forever, to have an’ hold for better or worse, poorer or more prosperous, sick or healthy. I’ll love an’ cherish ‘til death does part us at last.”

  Alexander took off his sash and Nathair his, and as one, they wrapped them around their new wives’ shoulders. “Cicilia, everythin’ I have in this world, I endow upon ye,” he said quietly, while Nathair said something similar to Jeanie.

  The handfasting came next, a physical symbol of how they were tied together forever. Long after the rope entwined around their hands was gone, Cicilia would still be able to feel the ghost of its imprint, reminding her of her bond.

  A few more words, some thoughts and prayers, and it was done. They were wed.

  Nathair and Jeanie were already lost in each other’s arms, but Cicilia hadn’t moved towards Alexander yet. It felt so surreal that she barely knew it was real yet.

  And then the minister said, “May I present to ye, Clan Gallagher, yer Laird an’ his wife.”

  Then it was more real than anything had ever been before, and she flew forward into Alexander’s waiting arms. Their lips crashed together as the gathered crowd cheered, and now, at last, they were one.

  They’d made love before, of course, but somehow the first time they were alone on their wedding day was like a voyage of new discovery. Alexander rediscovered Cicilia’s body like an antiquarian discovering an ancient Roman temple, and he worshipped at her shrine.

  They didn’t speak much, too wrapped up in each other—Alexander in his wife, Cicilia in her husband—to have time for words. The soft cushion of her lips against his, the feel of her soft yet firm breasts yielding readily under his hands.

  The way the skin on her leg felt as it brushed against him, and then the pressure of her chest against his own as she moved onto him. The sharp gasps she made when his fingers tangled in her hair, twirling around that bizarre black strand and pulling just a little harder than necessary. The hunger in those strange, beautiful eyes as she surveyed him from above.

  Like nae other women in the world, she’s me supernatural love.

  Perhaps they spent hours just touching and kissing and finding, claiming every inch of the other as their own forever. Maybe it was days. Time had no meaning now, not for Alexander, happily locked for eternity in Cicilia’s arms.

  Me wife. Me love.

  Eventually, though, he rolled her onto her back. Her heavy breaths were making her chest swell and fall rapidly, and there was pleading in her eyes as he hovered just above her face.

  And then slowly, slowly, he entered her, and they were joined together physically as well as in spirit. It was more delicate than anything they’d done before. Unhurried. Loving. They had the rest of eternity together, and they’d spend as much of it as they could in each other’s arms.

  As the heat built, her every sigh and moan were like a testament from the heavens, alerting him to his new covenant. His responding grunts and mild oaths were prayers offered at her altar as he gave himself, all of himself, to her.

  When they reached the peak together, she cried out so loudly that it was like music in Alexander’s ears, the most beautiful church choir or perhaps even a chorus of angels. He released immediately after and fell forward.

  “Cicilia,” he mumbled.

  “Shh,” she said, stroking his hair.

  And like that, still entangled, as one body, they drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 32

  Iuncta Iuvant

  I Am Not Who I Once Was

  The Gallagher Fair was attended from those near and far within the clan. It was a week of joy such as they had not seen in many years. It was a bustling event, filled with traders and creators, artists and sculptors, jousters and puppet-masters.

  Each had their favorites. Cicilia and Nathair spent much time at the horseracing events, cheering for their preferred winners and placing bets of pennies and sweet cakes. Jeanie, with the help of young Alice, ran a knitting class, where she helped teach some of the village children the ways of the needles.

  Me friend’s wife is gonnae have us all kitted out for winter before we ken it, whether we like it or nae!

  Alexander’s personal favorite part was the music competition, with a grand prize of a pin of pure silver in the shape of a lute. It had been a tradition from his grandfather’s time, and he had abandoned it after the death of his father. But now he sent the call far and wide, summoning bards and performers from all around the Highlands to the clan.

  Many came. The prize was too tempting to miss. The pin was not only valuable in terms of money. The winner was free to sell it if they so chose, but it would mark the bard as under the patronage of the Laird of Gallagher. Essentially, he would be guaranteed jobs and financial support for the space of a full year.

  “It’s a fine prize,” Catherine told her brother. She would return home soon, but she had simply insisted that she and the children must stay for the fair. “An’ yet, I’m surprised by the attention it’s drawn.”

  “Are ye?” Cicilia asked. She’d left the side of the horses to approach as the set-up for the music competition began. “I’m certain that people all over the Highlands wanted to see the elusive Laird o’ Gallagher, out o’ his shell at last.”

  Alexander chuckled and put an arm around her, kissing her hair. “Ye make me sound like such a miser,” he laughed.

  “Och, well, ye were a wee bit serious before I came along,” Cicilia teased.

  Catherine smiled fondly at the pair of them. “Where are the twins? An’ me Matthew as well, for that matter?”

  Cicilia pointed over to the other side of the large field, where a small crowd was gathered. “They’re doin’ a best in show over there,” she told her sister-in-law. “An’ o’ course, Annys an’ Jamie had to enter Salann. Ye ken that me sister doesn’ae let yer Matthew out o’ her sight, so…”

  Alexander grinned. Salann, salt, was the name of the twins’ replacement piglet, who was settling into life at the castle quite happily.

  “Like salted pork,” Jamie had declared, sounding very proud of himself. Alexander had to admit, it was a clever way to honor the late Bacon.

  Salann was still very young, but Alexander could already tell he was going to grow huge. They’d have to send him back to the farm at some point, but they had a good two or three years until he reached his maximum size.

  An’ even when he does return, I imagine the twins will be spendin’ a lot o’ time at the farm, especially Jamie. It’ll be his in a few short years, after all.

  The musical performances started then, distracting Alexander from thoughts of the children and the pigs. It started slow, with a simple singer, but soon lively tunes were filling the air. The jaunty pipes, the plucking of lute strings, deep percussive beats—all of it was creating an energy in the air that was bringing Clan Gallagher back to life.

  To Alexander’s extreme surprise, it wasn’t even just those from the surrounding clans who joined them. The weird and wonderful variety baffled him and added to the crackling spark in the air.

  He danced with his sister, with Jeanie, with Annys and Alice, with Susan, the baker’s wife, letting himself feel human at last. The bard on the platform now was the strangest yet. He was a Scandinavian settler, tall and wiry and wild, his hair streaked through with indigo dye. Annys, in particular, found this exciting, unable to stop pointing at the strange man with blue hair.

  “I cannae believe people are comin’ all the way here from up North an’ choosin’ our wee clan,” Jeanie said with a wide smile. “It’s inspirin’.”

  “That one’s been learnin’ the story o’ what happened here over the last while,” Cicilia informed her. “He was talkin’ to me earlier, an’ he’s been tourin’ the village. Says he wants to make a story-song called the Ballad o’ Gallagher, in Alexander’s honor.”

  Alexander raised an eyebrow. He’d heard great ballads before, of course, but he’d also heard many terrible ones. The story of how
he’d found his love, how he’d reunited with his people, was precious. He was anxious that this bard, like so many others, would twist it for fanciful effect.

  But as soon as the music started, the light strumming of the lute and the background pan pipes, Alexander knew he shouldn’t have worried. The man sang with a Scottish twang mixed with his northern accent, creating an almost otherworldly effect as he spun the tale to the gathered crowd.

  Still half a lad, the boy comes to be

  The Laird o’ a Clan, an’ a’ he can see,

  His only advisor, a well-hidden snake

  Spreadin’ his poison, awaitin’ its take,